In moment still this war
Has taken way too far
The sight of snow-capped peaks
The sound of our Rabab
The smell of lavish grass
In moment still, this War
Has opened up ajar
The sight of burning valleys
The sound of crashing blasts
The smell of ashened grass
The moon is at it’s edge
O river steep and wide
On surface glass like fetch
It’s silver pale and bright
And call the calming breeze
To sprinkle music sweet
So at your water’s brink
A lover lone shall great.
Beloved’s soothing thoughts